


pear blossom (on-hold)

by wlwskz



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: 3RACHA, Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff and Angst, Han Jisung | Han & Kim Seungmin are Best Friends, Han Jisung | Han-centric, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, OT8, Team as Family, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:17:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21561013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wlwskz/pseuds/wlwskz
Summary: when jisung had left, there was only a single question that remained in his wake.
Relationships: Bang Chan & Han Jisung | Han, Han Jisung | Han & Everyone, Han Jisung | Han & Hwang Hyunjin, Han Jisung | Han & Kim Seungmin, Han Jisung | Han & Lee Felix, Han Jisung | Han & Lee Minho | Lee Know, Han Jisung | Han & Seo Changbin, Han Jisung | Han & Yang Jeongin | I.N
Comments: 45
Kudos: 169





	1. preface.

_"it is our suffering that brings us together._ _it is not love._ _love does not obey the mind, and turns to hate when forced._ _the bond that binds us is beyond choice._ _we are brothers. we are brothers in what we share. in pain, which each of us must suffer alone, in hunger, in poverty, in hope, we know our brotherhood. we know it, because we have had to learn it. we know that there is no help for us but from one another, that no hand will save us if we do not reach out our hand. and the hand that you reach out is empty, as mine is. you have nothing. you possess nothing. you own nothing. you are free. all you have is what you are, and what you give."_

\- ursula k. le guin, the dispossessed


	2. i.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he imagines jisung, laughing.

this is what felix remembers: it’s spring and they’re running. there’s a path laid out in front of them, made only a couple of weeks ago when chan had chased seungmin into the other side of the field. the wind is cold but it brushes them softly as they run, ruffling the tendrils of hair on the back of their necks and knitting itself within the grass scent of their clothes. felix is chasing changbin- or maybe it’s jeongin- when he stumbles and falls onto his back. jisung’s back. the shorter boy stutters, trips over his shoelaces and flies forward, bringing hyunjin down with him. there’s a groan, maybe a cry, and then laughter.

chan tuts, this felix is sure of. he tuts, hands on his hips, but a smile is decorating his lips and his eyes are crinkled in the corners. changbin hangs from his shoulders, panting slightly. he’s wearing the hoodie minho got him for his birthday last year, felix remembers; it’s purple and hangs on his small frame. there’s a necklace wrapped around his neck, matching with chan and jisung, and it sparkles in the sunlight. 3racha- felix remembers, though he shouldn’t.

there’s something about this memory that pulls at his heartstrings. perhaps it’s the way changbin pulls them upwards, brushing their backs and telling them to be careful before joining the snoring minho under the shade of the trees nearby. or maybe it’s the way seungmin squeezes his cheeks and continuously takes pictures of jisung and hyunjin struggling to stay upright, watching as jeongin runs towards them with eyes wider and brighter than the sun. or maybe, and this is what felix remembers the most, it’s the way jisung staggers to chan like a lost child or a newborn dear. one foot in front of the other, exaggerating, whining. it’s the way chan laughs and takes the younger into his arms, rubbing his back soothingly as changbin pulls faces from behind.

the memory fades and felix is left standing in a place that is nothing more than a reminder of what they have lost. the grass tickles his ankles and something creeks in the distance. his dangly star necklace grazes his neck and his fist tightens around his phone. there’s a flower pulled behind his ear, and his heart is beating loudly- fast.

he’s alone- has been since the group fell apart. though, it wasn’t until three months after the incident that felix realized how big and how strong the tension had grown between them. it came in the form of seungmin ignoring his texts, avoiding him in the corridors at their small art school and trying everything possible to not be alone with him, or anyone else.

“it’s hard, felix.” seungmin says when they’re supposed to be stretching together because they share the same dance period and everyone else is already paired up. he has his back towards felix but he’s looking him straight in the eye through the mirrors. it’s sharp- cold. “it’s hard to look at you, and the others, and not think about where he used to sing, where he used to dance. it’s hard when you know you’re only friends for the sake of someone who’s not even here anymore.”

“don’t say that,” felix mutters, voice quiet. he doesn’t want to believe it, he thinks- that they were only together because that’s all they knew. it was familiar, comforting, but it was also grotesque, hostile. it was painful, piercing, ugly. “we all agreed, said we would be okay like this. for him- always for him.”

“doesn’t mean it hurts any less,” seungmin retorts, eyes averting felix’s own tear-filled ones. they don’t speak any further, all of felix’s attempts to reconcile falling off his tongue with no poison. he sighs, breathes and allows himself to immerse his body and mind into the music that starts to play from the loudspeakers.

in the end, seungmin is the first to leave. or rather, second. he packs his bag and leaves for a place much better than the one they began at. he texts them farewell, good luck and goodbye and disappears into the doors of jyp entertainment. felix likes to believe that he’s working hard and being treated right by the people taking care of him, likes to believe that seungmin is thankful for all the memories they share and that he thinks of them, and the laughs, and the cries, and everything in between.

“what happened to us?” whispers are carried by the soft breeze that weaves its way into words and buries itself within the sand of time. felix feels his knees weaken slightly before he’s sat among the daises growing below his feet. what happened to us? the songs and the dances and the late nights under the stars? what happened to the games of tag in the fields, the midnight study sessions in the library, the smell of free ice cream taken from minho’s own wallet, the takeout dinners and chan’s cooking and eight? what happened to eight?

this is something felix thinks of often- the past. the before, rather than the now. he finds that he prefers to live in the past rather than the present because, then, at least he isn’t alone. he knows, for a fact, that changbin still thinks of them, their memories, if the lyrics of his soundcloud raps go by anything.

“friends drift,” he remembers chan saying one day, a few weeks after hyunjin gets a call from a modelling agency in the centre of seoul and promptly moves without so much as a goodbye. they’re sitting on chan’s bed, big enough for three but somehow also able to fit eight. it’s him, chan, jeongin and changbin- the only four that had stayed in their little old corner of seoul. “friends stray- but memories, they’re eternal.”

felix scoffs. he brings his knees up to his chest and leans his forehead on top of them. there’s a shaking under his sleeves where his hands rest and his heart is knocking against his ribs. he looks up, for a second, and watches as the sun starts to surrender itself to the moon. he hears a light laughter from ahead, and smiles as jisung emerges from the trees. and then changbin, chasing him from afar. he looks to his left, feels a hand grab his own and smiles at chan’s nose scrunch. there’s a giggle and a flash and seungmin is by his side, camera in hand as hyunjin and jeongin pose exaggeratedly. in the corner of his eye, felix sees minho approaching with the ice cream cones minho had promised to buy for them last week.

the scene dissolves and felix is alone, left clutching what remains of his heart. there’s a ringing in his ears as he recounts the weeks that follow. he remembers friday, sitting in the english lesson he shares with jisung, paying more attention to the cerulean sky from his place next to the window than the teacher in front of him. jisung is tapping his fingers against the table to the tune of the song he and changbin are composing for their music composition class. he isn’t paying much attention either, which is unusual because jisung, albeit his eccentric, flamboyant character, isn’t that far behind seungmin from getting the top grades within their family of eight.

“hey,” he whispers, leaning over slightly with his hand cupped under his chin, “you okay?” they’re sitting at the back of the class and the teacher isn’t really focusing on whether or not her students are listening so felix allows himself to shuffle his chair slightly to the edge of his desk. the book they’re studying shuffles across the table and fall open to the page he and jisung had annotated for homework the night before.

jisung hums, bringing his tapping to an end before finally turning in his seat slightly to face the younger boy. he’s clutching the book tightly in his other hand, fingertips turning pale from the pressure. it’s obvious that there is a lot on his mind, so felix had tries to distract him. “are you coming to chan-hyung’s place later? it’s movie night and changbin’s turn to buy food so i’m going to try and get the most expensive thing on the menu.”

jisung pauses for a moment and turns the pages of his book absentmindedly. his fingers graze the sharp corners as he bites at his bottom lip before sighing and closing the book altogether. “i don’t think so, lix.” his voice is quiet, strangled. “i think i just want to stay home for a bit. sorry.”

this is something they all know: jisung is prone to getting overwhelmed easily. there are times when he physically can’t step out of the apartment, when simple touch pain him. there are times when his anxiety gets the best of him and he can’t stand the static that follows whenever he speaks. at these times, jisung will desire only solitude and peace in the comfort of the cheap place he shares with nothing but the ghosts of parents that had left him for something more than seoul, where no-one can storm into his room unannounced or shout for him from the kitchen.

felix sighs sadly, reaching a hand out to rub circles into the skin of the slightly elder boy’s knuckles. “hey,” he whispers softly, “don’t say sorry. it’s okay. i’ll tell chan-hyung you can’t make it and make changbin-hyung pay for your next meal.” he grins when jisung snorts. “and don’t forget, ji. we’re always only one phone call or text away. whatever you need- just text one of us.”

jisung smiles and nods his head slightly, taking felix’s hand in his own and squeezing it tightly. they stay like this until the teacher dismisses them, and felix helps jisung calm his shaking hands and pack his bag. he nuzzles his nose against the elder’s head when they hug goodbye and whispers an soft ‘i love you’ in his ear when they pull away.

felix waves a small goodbye and turns back to his desk when jisung exits the classroom. he stretches his arms behind his head and cracks his back before grabbing his bag from under his table. he doesn’t pay attention as he throws his things into the backpack and slings it across his shoulder, rising from his chair. something thuds against the wood of his desk and he curses, realising he hasn’t zipped it closed.

they’re studying demian, a book by hermann hesse. it’s one of jisung’s favourites, felix knows this because the elder often quoted it when the situation sees fit. felix isn’t a hundred percent sure he understands what it’s about but jisung’s judgement of many things, particularly books, are always in accordance with felix’s own opinions so he puts up with the complicated maze of words decorating the pale sheets. it’s open on one of the pages near the end and, from where felix is standing, he can see a phrase highlighted in bright yellow, annotated with a handwriting that isn’t his own.

_“one never reaches home, but wherever friendly paths intersect, the whole world looks like home for a time.”_

felix scrunches his nose and closes the book, packing it back into his bag. back then, he couldn’t quite find himself to believe in the line; home was his brothers, his friends. home, for him, wasn’t just for ‘a time’ but, rather, for eternity. it wasn’t a temporary feeling of comfort and warmth, felix knows. home was here.

was.

jisung never calls, or texts, nor does he come into school on monday. or, at least, felix doesn’t see him. he has a dentist appointment in the morning so they don’t meet before school, and they don’t share the same timetable that particular day, but he knows that jisung and seungmin are in the same vocal class so he figures he’ll ask seungmin later. at lunch, both seungmin and hyunjin tell him that jisung hasn’t answered any of their own texts or calls and they plan to drop by his house after school with his favourite cheesecake to cushion the blow of the mountain of classwork and homework he’s missed.

they don’t make it to the end of the school day.

there’s a phone call, and a cry. a police car and bright lights. felix remembers it clearly- one of the few tragedies he’s ever experienced.

though, he doesn’t _want_ to remember it. a hand is pressed tightly to his left ear, where the ringing is the loudest. the grass under his legs tickle his skin and the soft breeze is no longer soft but, rather, raging and knitting itself within bustling clouds. he doesn’t move when the first raindrops fall, nor does he move when the others follow.

he thinks back to when jisung was recorded to have breathed his last breath- hopes that the last thing he saw was the faces of all the people that loved him. chan, just coming out of a vocal examination. minho, preparing for the dance showcases with his dance team only five minutes away from the school. changbin, in the studios with his production classmates, talking about some new rap pieces for the end-of-year performances. hyunjin and seungmin, in the front yard of the school, taking pictures of the younger years- mainly jeongin- playing football for their photography class. and felix, sat in the english class he and jisung share, doodling in a book he can’t remember the title of.

felix remembers something from back then, during the english lesson before everything fell apart. he sees jisung tracing his knuckles, hands calloused but soft and sweet smelling. the elder looks up, with the constellation of virgo hidden within his eyes, dancing in the honey that smooths itself across around his pupil. felix thinks he sees his mouth move slowly but he can’t remember what drifts from jisung’s pink lips. if he were to listen closely, maybe move forward ever so slightly, he would have heard the shakiness in the elder’s voice, the way his words rival the flow of his usually fast speech. would you be angry, felix? would you be hurt, would you cry? what should i do, felix? where would i go?

_where would i go?_

* * *

somewhere safe.

that’s what seungmin likes to believe. he likes to think that jisung is in a place much safer than their large, bustling city. somewhere in the countryside maybe, or on another island. perhaps, even another country. there’s a thought, maybe a memory, that plays in the back of his mind, convinces him that jisung is making it big somewhere else, somewhere new. he likes to think that jisung is shining among the stars that seoul was too dim to display.

seungmin is twenty-two, a trainee, and barely breathing. his friends consist of already-debuted idols and the lunch ladies that serve food in the jyp cafeteria. he’s twenty-two, a trainee, and missing something from the past that he can’t quite seem to place.

he sits, cross-legged, next to the window and thinks. from below, he watches as seoul comes alive with the chatter of school students and tourists. he’s sitting in the cafeteria next to the some of his seniors, dubbed ‘day6’ by their pd. there’s wonpil, the closest elder brother figure he has in his company, who’s talking to the youngest and drummer of the group, dawoon. he isn’t paying much attention to their conversation, instead focusing on the glass that feels cold against his touch. he doesn’t react when jae joins the table, nor does he make a noise when he beckons dahyun from twice over to talk about one of their end-of-year, collaboration stages. he sits, cross-legged, next to the window and thinks.

this is what he thinks of: chan, sitting at the head of the table. they’re in high school, studying in the library. studying- seungmin laughs, they never really studied. he thinks of himself, trying his best to convince jeongin that maths isn’t a useless subject and that, even though they go to an art school, he still needs to get good grades in it. he sees jisung, felix and hyunjin, lounging on the arm chairs near the comic books, half asleep. changbin, typing away at his computer whilst minho looks on from behind his shoulder, giving him advice on a module he’d already previously done. he thinks about chan, looking at them ever so fondly from his seat, smiling into his cup of coffee.

seungmin sighs and shakes his head, willing the thoughts away. it’s useless to think of a past that will never be imitated in the present. what more can it bring but pain? he’d left- second- and cut all contact with the friends he used to call his brothers. he’d left them to pick up the pieces of their own broken hearts instead of helping them mourn and move on from the loss of someone that was such a huge part of their lives- is such a huge part of their lives. he won’t allow himself to forget.

he tuts quietly and turns his back to the window, finally focusing on the conversation taking place in front of him. whatever it takes to distract him from the past. he picks at his rice with his chopsticks and allows himself to chew the tasteless grains slowly. chan’s was always better. he sighs again, ignores wonpil’s worried look, and allows himself to gaze around the room.

on the other side of the busy cafeteria, seungmin locks eyes with one of the many trainees that arrived much later than he had. there’s a moment where his breath stutters and his heart deflates before something akin to fear, or affection- seungmin doesn’t remember, erupts within him. he sits up abruptly and, this time, both wonpil and jae startle upwards, but he doesn’t reply to their questioning stares and instead pushes himself away from the table.

he pauses, lets his mind wander, and takes a chilling step forward. his eyes widen ferociously and his jaw drops as he leans back onto the table with a gasp. the boy in question looks at him curiously before his own eyes widen and avert to another corner of the room. seungmin feels something drop inside his chest and he bites his bottom lip to stop himself from crying. he knows what this rejection means.

kim seungmin is twenty-two, a trainee, and no longer the same person yang jeongin used to consider his brother.

somewhere far.

in seungmin’s mind, jisung is far, far away. jisung is not in seoul, or incheon, or even in south korea. that’s why he hasn’t been able to contact them- text them, send a letter, anything. in seungmin’s mind, jisung is in malaysia with his brother, or in america because he’d always wanted to go there. in his mind, jisung is just on an adventure to somewhere no-one can reach him. he’ll be back soon, seungmin believes.

the first thing seungmin says to jeongin after close to three years of no talk is this: “i thought you said you weren’t going to go for trainee life if it wasn’t with all eight of us.” 

jeongin is much taller than he used to be now. he no longer wears braces and his cheekbones are more defined, prominent. the cheeks seungmin used to like to pinch are no longer as soft or as pudgy. there’s a light in his eyes that is no longer as bright as they used to be and, when he speaks, his voice is deep and tired. “things changed.”

seungmin hums, feels himself trace the constellation pressed against the skin of his wrist. that’s something they all have- all eight of them, thin thread wrapped around their wrists with a small chain of stars. virgo. jeongin has his covered by the sleeve of his jacket but seungmin can see the small string of thread peeking from the waterproof material. “how is everyone?”

“i don’t know, hyung.” he stresses each word, voice laced with something poisonous that seungmin can’t place. his face is contorted tightly in something that looks like anger but comes off as sadness. there’s no informality in his voice, now only a stranger that seungmin once knew. he laughs, stressed and nothing like the carefree, light laugh he used to have. “i haven’t known for years.”

“jeongin-” he stops, feels his heart stutter, clenches his fist. he wants to apologize. for leaving. for saying goodbye when he knew they needed him. he wants to say sorry for being the first to go after the incident, and tell them how guilty he feels for leaving only a text in his wake. he wants- needs, to apologize. if not to all, then at least to jeongin. jeongin, their youngest and brightest star, who was only just turning seventeen when everything collapsed beneath him. he wants to go back- back to when they were in high school, back when they were together, back to jisung. “jeongin, you have to know i’m so-”

“don’t. hyung.” jeongin breathes, allows himself to close his eyes and compose himself. he rises, slowly, and turns to tuck the chair back under the table. his phone, dangling from his fingertips, buzzes and he hurries to turn it off. “look, i need to go. i’ll- i’ll see you around.”

seungmin doesn’t have time to reply before the younger is pacing away, joining the rest of the newer trainees as they take a seat on the other side of the room. he clenches his fists tightly, fingernails puncturing the skin in the palm of his hand enough to draw blood. he doesn’t have any right to be angry about jeongin’s informality, after everything they’ve been through. he has no right to complain, or report him. so, instead, he brushes his lap and stands from his seat before promptly walking out of the cafeteria with nothing more than an empty stomach and a broken heart.

somewhere good.

he imagines jisung to be among the flowers of the fields behind chan’s house, or the abandoned building they often called home. he imagines jisung, wrapped tightly in his favourite hoodie- hyunjin’s- and scarf. he imagines jisung in that stupid, unattractive hat he used to wear everywhere because it was the first thing seungmin had bought for him, albeit jokingly. he imagines jisung, laughing.

seungmin remembers when everything fell apart. he’s sitting in his usual spot in the café next to the school, three months after whatever happened- happened. he’s drinking a cup of tea that leaves only an unappealing taste in his mouth, watching from his seat as the rain outside drums against the glass of the windows. his phone is lying neatly next to his laptop, on silent because he can’t handle looking at the various messages from his friends.

the bell at the door rings quietly and his attention shifts from the crystals forming alongside the glass. a man, clad in a black suit that stands out in the comfortable ambience of the café, strides over to seungmin’s table, pushing his hair back from covering his eyes. he’s intimidating, seungmin thinks, and completely different from any other entertainment company representative that he’s met up with before. he stands and bows, motioning for the elder man to sit opposite him. the man allows for a brief moment of silence before he begins to talk but seungmin only drowns the words out with the thought of his phone, on the table, lighting up every couple of seconds.

in the end, seungmin is offered an opportunity to train at jyp entertainment. he’s nineteen, nearly graduated, and desperate to move on- so he agrees. he doesn’t want to stay in a place where all he’s reminded of is a boy that no longer lives among them.

that, perhaps, was his first and biggest mistake.

“i heard changbin-hyung is big on soundcloud.” seungmin throws his bag onto the couch and pushes the sleeves of his hoodie up to his elbows. jeongin is stood in the middle of the practice room, stretching his arms. “jimin-noona told me- she heard from chan-hyung. i, uh, didn’t know he went back to australia.”

jeongin hums, indifferent, and continues to stretch. he has earphones plugged in but seungmin knows there’s nothing playing on them. the younger is wearing a shirt that he’s seen hyunjin modelling on various magazines, and his shoes are ones seungmin recognises as the ones chan used to wear when they were still attending the same school.

“please talk to me, innie.” the nickname seems to strike something within the younger because his bottom lip starts to chatter and he turns his head away completely. in the mirror, seungmin can see the fire in his eyes, once bright and burning but now only irritated, painful. “jeongin, please.”

“hyung.” the younger breathes slowly, fists turning an ugly white. “stop. i really don’t even know how to talk to you right now. i’m angry, hyung. so fucking angry.” he stops, wills himself to calm down. “after you left- hyung, everything fell apart. and, fuck, you didn’t even say a proper goodbye. you went missing, for days, before you texted- do you know how scared we were? how terrified that it had happened again?”

seungmin is frozen, eyes falling to stare at his feet. he remembers, god, of course he remembers. he’d left his phone at home when he’d travelled to the centre of seoul during his first week as a trainee. when he’d returned home that weekend to almost a hundred unread messages and forty-three missed calls, he’d panicked. he never meant to worry, or hurt them. he’d simply… forgotten what it felt like to be the one to be worried about. back then, it was jeongin- because he was the youngest, eighteen, and already experienced the loss of a brother that he’d spent the majority of his life with. back then, it was chan and minho and changbin, who were in university and didn’t receive any news about jisung until much later than those still in high school. back then, it was hyunjin and felix, who wore their hearts on their sleeves and loved with everything they had to offer. back then, seungmin was the strong one. the calm one.

“whatever excuse you want to give, hyung, whatever apology you want to spit out after three whole years, i don’t want to hear it. i’m here to train, and debut- like we’d promised we’d all do. even if it’s without you, or the others, or jisung-hyung.” when seungmin looks up, jeongin is staring him straight in the eye. it’s threatening, slightly, and makes him think about all the times chan used to get angry. it wrings itself around his throat and makes it hard to breathe, pulling him away from his thoughts and dousing him in guilt.

“you’re right,” he mutters, crossing his arms across his chest. he’s well aware that he’s shaking, fingers dancing along his sides nervously. “you’re right, jeongin. i don’t have any right to ask you to forgive me. that’s not what i want.” he breathes in slowly and looks up at the younger, eyes catching the piercing ones in front of him. “what i want is for you to know- just know- how sorry i am. how i wake up every night thinking about every shitty thing i’ve done, how my mind wanders to every memory we shared and makes me question why i decided to leave. but, just know, jeongin, that i didn’t leave to hurt you. never. i left to fulfil a dream that we all wanted, that jisung wanted. i left for jisung.”

jeongin’s eyes drop, dangerously cold. “jisung-hyung deserved so much better.” the younger, seungmin notices, shivers when he speaks. there’s a barely audible gulp before his fingers start to play with the bracelet wrapped tightly around his thin wrist. is this the first time he’s said this out loud? did it hurt- did it make him want to scream? “how did we-” his voice stutters “-how did we not notice? why didn’t we help him when he needed us the most?”

“i don’t know, jeongin,” seungmin whispers, “i don’t know.” because he doesn’t. not really. jisung was the happy one. the outgoing energiser who only seemed to radiate comfort and sunshine. jisung was the one others went to for comfort, who knew exactly what to do and say and exactly when to do and say them. jisung was everything positive in the world. is, seungmin thinks, jisung is.

“it hurts, hyung.” jeongin’s voice is close to a whisper, pain dripping from every syllable that escapes his mouth. his expression is raw, open, and seungmin finally understands why the younger is so adamant to talk to him. he’d never given up on him, not truly. he’s just been waiting. for what, seungmin doesn’t know. “i want to move on, but _it hurts_.”

seungmin sniffs sadly, arms snaking around jeongin’s body tentatively and pulling him into a long-awaited, much needed hug. he’s warm and fits perfectly in his arms, just like back then, and he smells like fresh apples. it’s familiar, pleasant, and reminds him of everything he’s lost and everything he’s achieved. “then let it hurt,” he whispers, “let it hurt and pull at every single emotion you can possibly muster. let it make you laugh, and cry, and doubt yourself. let it burn your throat and scratch at the back of your eyes. let it destroy you. only then will you be able to move on.”

“but what if i can’t?”

“you will,” seungmin declares, eyes finding jeongin’s own, “because that’s what jisung would have wanted. he wouldn’t want you to suffer for the rest of your life- that goes against everything he stood for. everything he stands for. he’d want you to move on, more than anything. i’m sure of it.”

“jisung-hyung was your best friend.”

“he was. he is. and he always will be.”

jeongin breathes deeply after a few moments, pulling away. he plays nervously with the hem of his shirt and shuffles from one foot to the other. he looks down, averting all eye contact once again when they hear to door on the other side of the room open and trainees start to pile in. “i can’t forgive you- not yet,” he states, putting his hand up when seungmin’s face drops, “i don’t think i will for a while, but i know someday i’ll move on and learn how to forgive. i just- i need time, hyung.”

“i understand.” it’s ironic, seungmin thinks. that everything he’d tried so hard to forget is coming back hard and fast, pushing on his lungs and making it hard to breathe. it’s ironic, that even though he was the one who caused them so much pain, he’s the one feeling like his whole world has stopped on its axis once again. “i love you, jeongin.” he says this like back then, when they were eighteen and nineteen and careless. when they were young and enjoying whatever life could offer them. he says this like nothing has changed when, in fact, nothing is the same.

he doesn’t get an answer, not really, and he doesn’t expect one. nevertheless, his heart still throbs at the nod that he receives in return, thorns grasping his throat and chest and mocking his ability to think straight. he waits- one second, two- before jeongin has to leave for practice. he receives a quick hand squeeze, a soft murmur of thanks, and a kiss on the cheek before the younger is stepping back.

and when jeongin finally turns away, seungmin pretends that his eyes don’t well up when he sees the eight boys decorating the younger’s lockscreen.


	3. ii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it’s eight boys- wavering between acceptance and denial.

there’s a memory from far back, hidden away in the crevices of his mind, that hyunjin thinks of often. it’s winter and he and jisung are cuddling in front of the radiator, cocooned in duvets they’d pulled from the bed in chan’s apartment. it’s snowing outside, and hyunjin can hear the faint sound of felix’s excited squeals and jeongin’s own screams. he sees jisung, hoodie pulled over his knees and sleeves concealing his hands. he’s cold, freezing even, but he’s laughing as they watch seungmin throw a handful of snow at minho, who does nothing but scream at the cold.

they’re eighteen, nearly nineteen, inexperienced and young. they do not yet know the horrors fate has in store for them, nor are they ready for the turbulences the next year will bring. they’re kids, still.

jisung says something, maybe a thank you- or perhaps a comment on the weather. either way, hyunjin doesn’t hear it. maybe he should have listened better, strained harder, focused more- if he had known it would be his last winter with jisung.

there’s a memory from far back, sometimes wavering between being remembered and being forgotten. it’s eight boys- eight broken pieces fixed together by the glue of their brotherhood, by the suffering and the achievements they’ve experienced. by the hopes, and the dreams, and the wishes. it’s eight boys- wavering between acceptance and denial.

hyunjin is twenty-two now, and works for one of the best modelling agencies in south korea. he’s one of the highest-paid models and also specialises in photography, like he’s always done. though, he doesn’t take pictures of rowdy high school students playing football, nor does he photograph aspiring musicians in studios much smaller than they should have been. no- now, he photographs people he works for and people he works with. models- all without any imperfections. he photographs celebrities, idols, singers, dancers, rappers, producers, choreographs. but no-one he thinks he’s ever personally connected with.

he crouches, ever so slightly, and waits as the make-up artist brushes the hair away from the model’s eyes before getting a close-up shot of her face. she’s young, head dyed a light lilac, and she’s a rookie. new. hyunjin remembers what it’s like to be new. he remembers feeling lost and in a place that he never truly belongs in, wanting nothing more than to go back home to a place of familiarity and comfort. something he’s used to. he sighs, and allows himself to move back, checking over the pictures with a sharp eye.

her name is han eunji. a member of a rookie idol group he hasn’t managed to catch up on yet. she’s barely two months older than him, which is weird because he’s normally made to work with much older and more experienced idols. he turns his head slightly, eyes catching the set-up crew, make-up artists and stylists gathered behind him. they’re focused on a group of girls that sport clothes of the same concepts as his current model. her groupmates- friends, he assumes. family, he supposes.

he wonders what it would have been like, briefly, if all the wishes of the past had come true. he envies, wants for something he knows he can’t obtain and, as he glances as the small group erupts into laughter, he turns his head away.

then, there’s a memory from far back, always at the forefront of hyunjin’s mind- one that he tries so hard to forget. it’s summer, and the sun is a fiery red. he’s adorned in a black suit he’d bought years ago but never actually worn- the only formal black clothing he owns. it’s humorous, he thinks, that jisung had been the one to force him into buying a suit but was never going to see him wear it.

it’s cold out (or maybe it’s just him), but he doesn’t bother putting on a jacket or a scarf. instead, he walks the ten minutes to the graveyard site and stands among the sea of black. he hates that it’s black- that they’re sending jisung off with his least favourite colour. no- jisung always liked bright colours. yellow. they should’ve worn yellow. he’d be disappointed to know that such sad colours decorate his grave.

still, he allows himself to immerse his mind and body into the dark. jisung is no longer here. as sad and as morbid as it is, he can no longer be disappointed. so what if they wear black? it’s not like jisung can scold them. not anymore, at least.

he doesn’t move when he hears someone approach him and press a comforting hand against his shoulder, nor does he move when people start walking up to the closed casket to say goodbye. however, when he sees felix’s bright ginger hair among the sea of black, and then chan’s messy blonde, he allows himself to break down in the arms of his best friends. he grits his teeth and curses at the salty burns that engrave his cheeks, a fire that won’t extinguish. he grabs hold of jeongin, who pulls him close and lets him cry into his shoulder.

he realises, then, that he and his friends aren’t ready to accept what has happened. he realises that they don’t want to believe that someone they’ve known since childhood, someone they’ve grown to love as a friend and a brother, is no longer beside them. he realises that he doesn’t want to look death in the eye, not yet, because he’s _tired_ and he wants to go home and wail until his heart accepts the pain of loss.

but jisung deserves more than a tired goodbye, so he stays, and he waits.

* * *

minho remembers it like this:

it’s during a lecture when his professor glances at the door and shoots up out of his chair. minho doesn’t quite remember what the elder man was talking about, having dozed off half an hour in. beside him, his friend is doodling in his notebook, so he guesses he hadn’t missed anything too important. he watches with tired eyes as his professor excuses himself and walks out of the door, loud exclamations from tired students left in his wake.

minho sighs and reaches into his bag to retrieve his phone from the front pocket. during his lectures, he prefers to keep the electronic off and tucked inside his bag for fear of getting too distracted (the kids like leaving a multitude of messages for them when their lectures finally end, something which always lands changbin into trouble during his music production classes. minho always tells him to just switch his notifications off and he promises he will, next time. he never does). as he waits for the screen to light up, something uneasy wells up in his stomach. even more so when the phone actually switches on and he’s met with a singular text from felix, a string of english words he can’t quite make out. the feeling of despair only grows stronger when he calls the younger and doesn’t get a reply, gripping at his stomach and pushing his heart against the inside of his chest painfully.

he stands, startling his friend next to him, and hurries to pack his things away. he _knows_ felix. he knows that the younger always leaves his phone on in case of emergencies. he mutters to his friend that there’s been an emergency at home- god, how he’d hoped it wasn’t serious- and smiled when the man nodded his head and promised to send him the notes later, tucking his chair in to grant minho easier exit. he bows his head slightly, grateful, and hurries down the descending staircase, ignoring the looks he gets as he presses hyunjin’s contact number. no reply.

he escapes the room with his phone pressed against his ear, seungmin’s contact number displayed on the screen. it rings for a few moments before the voicemail echoes in his ear, and he curses. now he knows something is definitely wrong. he tries felix again, just to be sure, before sighing and pressing jisung’s contact. it’s a long shot; like minho, jisung keeps his phone off during his lessons. he waits, tapping his foot against the floor, when a familiar song fills the hallway. his hand drops in beat with the start of hyunjin’s rap. 19. jisung’s song- the one the younger had put as minho’s ringtone not even a week ago.

minho startles, gaze following the music before landing on his professor standing only a few metres away. he hadn’t even noticed the elder man there. beside him, changbin is standing with his hands stuffed in his pockets. his gaze is to the floor, dark purple bangs covering his vision. despite that, minho can see the way his bottom lip nervously chatters. something glistens on his cheek- a tear. at his other side, chan stands tall but his shoulders are shaking and his fists are clenched tightly. he looks just as confused and afraid as minho does, with his eyes wavering to look anywhere but in minho’s eyes.

standing behind them is a police officer, lean and broad. he hadn’t even noticed her. there’s a plastic bag in her hands, the contents lit up with an ugly picture of himself, chin pressed to his chest and nostrils flaring- one he’d snapchatted only one person the night before. jisung. he could laugh, but the police officer stands intimidatingly tall, hovering like a dark cloud.

“lee minho-ssi?” the woman asks, stepping forward. minho feels something crawling up his throat, scratching at his lungs and making it hard to breathe. he doesn’t realise that he hasn’t answered until the phone cuts off and jisung’s voicemail replaces the echo around him. “lee minho-ssi?” the woman repeats, and minho takes a second to nod. “come with me.”

her voice is loud and authoritative, but it drips with bad news. he glances at changbin and chan, tightens his hand around his phone, and breathes slowly. his professor pats him on the shoulder when he passes and he hesitantly joins his two best friends on the long walk out of the building. a voice mocks his passing, whispers the worst possible circumstances, laughs at his confusion. the sound of their shoes against the concrete only pushes the voices further and further. where, minho? where are you going?

_where are you going?_

* * *

home.

chan likes to think of australia as his home. it’s where his parents live, where his younger siblings reside. it’s where all his childhood friends work, where he can speak the language without feeling overloaded and overwhelmed with the need to translate in his head. sydney is what he knows best, and it will always be his home.

that’s what chan likes to think. he’s twenty-five now, or, twenty-four, since he’s not in korea any more. he’d moved back not long after the first anniversary of the incident happened, anxious and afraid, convinced by his parents that maybe it wasn’t a good idea to stay in seoul. convinced that when he’d return to sydney, the feeling of loneliness and heartache would disappear.

it worked for a while. he had finished his degree, graduated university and gotten a job at one of the nearby music companies. he’d worked hard to forget, went to therapy every other week, took medication to help with the nightmares and the anxiety that made his skin electric. he’d managed to forget the past, forget seoul, forget his life before the one he has in sydney- almost within a year.

but then the second anniversary hit, and chan found himself hunched over in his little studio, clutching a metal pendant in his hand. he’d forgotten about it- thought he’d accidentally thrown it away when he packed up his life in seoul. he’d cried for weeks when he couldn’t find it, resorting to staring at the virgo bracelet on his wrist every night instead of the necklace he promised to wear.

the word 3racha had stared back at him hauntingly, mocking him, asking what, chan? did you forget about me? about us? did you forget the promise we made? the questions trembled against his temple, stimulating a headache. they made his fingers dance against the wooden table anxiously, tears gathering on his bottom eyelash.

that night, he’d logged onto the 3racha soundcloud account for the first time in a little under two years. he’d played their songs all night, fallen asleep to the sound of his rap, and when he’d woken up that morning, it was to his favourite of all the tracks- broken compass. it made him regret everything- distancing himself, pushing the others away, leaving. because he was the eldest, their oldest brother, their support- and he tried, he truly did try, to stay as long as he could. he’d stayed when seungmin had left, when minho and hyunjin had followed in his stead, still went to the abandoned building they called theirs with changbin, jeongin and felix, still tried to be the one they could rely on and ask for when they needed help. but they’d grown distant even in the short span of a year, and before he knew it, he was on a ten-hour flight back home.

now, chan sits on that same ten-hour flight, clutching his phone tightly in his hand. his company is sending him to seoul to take care of a merge between them and a korean music company. it’s small, with not many trainees, and it’s somewhere outside the centre of seoul, near the place chan used to live. chan thinks he remembers the address of the building as the old bread store rented out by a young couple looking to pay for a home somewhere is busan. he wonders, briefly, if they made it.

staring out of the window, chan watches as clouds split over korean air. he sinks into his seat, gripping the arm rest and breathes slowly. he knows, deep down, that though he likes to think of australia as his home, korea will always be the time capsule that he’d buried in his heart all those years ago. he may have lost his love for his hometown the day he lost his best friend, but he was going to use this trip to regain the memories of far ago, and maybe, just maybe, fall in love again.

the hospital.

chan remembers being twenty-two, sitting in the back of a police car with minho on his left and changbin on his right. nobody is talking, not even the officer that’s driving them. the silence surrounds them, deafening.

“why can’t you just tell us what happened?” changbin breaks the silence, leaning the side of his head against the cold window. chan watches at the officer stares back through the rear-view mirror, refusing to say anything. when he hears changbin scoff, he reaches a hand out to pat the younger’s own, giving it a gentle squeeze as he does so. he whispers something reassuring- he thinks, he doesn’t quite remember, but he knows that changbin had calmed down only a bit after.

on his other side, chan hears minho’s breathing shake slightly, and he reaches out with his other hand to squeeze his thigh reassuringly, stopping it from its relentless shaking. minho is still clutching his phone in his hands, almost as if he’s afraid to let it go. he’s called seungmin a number of times since they got into the car, all of which have ended with voicemails. their groupchat is silent too, even jeongin seems to be occupied.

chan whips his head around when he feels changbin’s hand fall from his hold. the younger has turned his body to the window, hands on the glass. he wants to tell the purple-haired male to get his hands off the clear glass but is interrupted by the gasp that falls from his lips. “are we at a hospital?”

again, the officer is silent. they pull up into the parking lot alongside two more police cars before the elder woman has any sort of answer. she sighs deeply, and turns in her seat to look at them. her gaze is soft, gentle, but her face is pulled into a small frown. “you’ll find your answers here,” she says, voice quiet as she opens her door and steps out, motioning for them to do the same. changbin glances back at chan for a moment, maybe for permission, before opening the door and stepping out.

when they enter the hospital, they follow behind the officer, and are only mildly surprised to see the number of other officers, and doctors, that await them outside of a hospital room two floors up, all looking solemn. chan doesn’t have much time to do more than simply glance over them because, within seconds of spotting them, he finds felix’s dyed hair and promptly takes the younger into his arms. hyunjin and jeongin are crying into each other’s embrace in the chairs next to him, and seungmin has his body turned to the window so he doesn’t have to face anyone. chan looks up when he hears minho and changbin move to take their youngest into their arms and he pulls away from the younger australian slowly. “hey,” he whispers delicately, so only the orange-haired boy can hear, “hey, what happened? where’s sung?”

felix looks up from his hands slowly, almost tiredly. his eyes are red and swollen, and his under eyes are painted a bruising purple. the tip of his nose is pink and it’s running slightly but chan pays no mind as he cups the younger’s face and urges him to speak. felix shakes his head and returns his face into his hands. as he does so, chan looks up helplessly to the officer, who motions to the doctor standing closes to the door. “bang chan-ssi, lee minho-ssi, seo changbin-ssi,” he nods at each of them, “if you please.” he opens the door slightly and motions for them to go in.

chan refuses to replay the next memory in his head. all he knows is that he stepped into that room with minho’s and changbin’s hands held tightly on his own, the feeling of felix’s gaze burning into his back. all he knows is the crying, the freezing temperature that burns his skin, the wet hair, and the fear that tremors through his body. all he knows is the crying, the cold, limp hand in his own, and the white cloth over a body much too young to be gone.

all he knows is the crying.

the river.

chan lands in gimpo international airport right before midday and manages to find the company representative sent to pick him up within five minutes of leaving the luggage pick-up area. he shakes her hand, bows for the first time in almost two years, and allows himself to be pulled away to the car waiting for them. the woman representing the company, jiwon, sits in the back with him, telling him about anything and everything. he tries to focus, but the landscape outside their windows manages to catch his attention even more.

when they pass familiar streets and shops and parks, chan allows himself to sink into the scenery. the car and the driver and the representative dissolve and chan is driving the car his father had bought him for his eighteenth birthday. he’s twenty, and in his first year of university. in the passenger seat, a seventeen-year-old jisung snores lightly and when he looks through the rear-view mirror, the rest of the kids who had joined them are either sleeping too or quietly listening to the music playing. he checks his side-view mirror for minho, who’s following closely behind with changbin and hyunjin, and smiles. they’re on their way home from the beach; it’s summer, and extremely warm, so they’d driven to eurwangni beach for a few days away. chan remembers it to have been one of the best summers of his life, filled with teaching minho how to swim, hyunjin putting too much sun cream on, felix and jisung sneaking out to swim in their pyjamas, changbin dragging jeongin and seungmin to the arcades nearby- them, together. chan sits in the driver’s seat and adjusts his position slightly, he glances at jisung’s sleeping figure again and moves to quieten down the music playing. he hums quietly, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. behind him, felix starts humming lowly, and along with him, jeongin. seungmin, like jisung, snores lightly against jeongin’s shoulder and chan smiles- he’s happy.

chan shakes his head and the memory turns to dust. he sinks back in his chair and stares out of the window when he’s sure jiwon has stopped talking to him. he watches as cars fly by, blurry faces passing within seconds. he remembers these streets to be smaller- because seoul was so much smaller back then, entrapped in his youthful view. now that he’s older, he sees everything seoul has to offer- it’s dangers, it’s fun, it’s beauty.

almost an hour into the ride, they pass by a river. the parks are filled with families and couples spending the day under the sun together, and people are walking back and forth from the convenience stores nearby. there’s a couple with a young child, teaching him how to fly a kite, and a grandmother with her grandson, holding his hand as they walk. there’s a group of teenagers on their bikes, cycling past with grins on their faces, and mirroring them are a group of elementary schoolers running down the path.

“excuse me, is this the han river?”

jiwon looks up from her laptop to look out of the window and nods happily. “ah, yes. we’re about to cross the hangang bridge,” she informs him, smiling when he makes a noise of acknowledgement before returning her attention to her screen.

chan clutches his knees tightly, turning back to the window. at his feet, he taps his backpack lightly with his shoe, trying to tune out the thoughts that spring to mind at the mention of the han river. back then, he used to think about the exciting and pleasant times they used to have there- swapping clothes and acting like each other for stupid bets, dropping coat sleeves in three-minute ramen, playing random games of badminton and stargazing. now, when he thinks of han river, he thinks of bright police lights, crying and name tags. now, when he thinks of back then, his body feels itself closing up, shutting down. his hands start to get clammy and he rubs them against his trousers, trying to ignore the burning in his lungs that festers and builds in his chest.

he looks out through the window as they enter the opening of hangang bridge. he sees people looking over the edge, talking to each other, laughing, and his throat collapses within him. he closes his eyes and brings his hand up to clutch his pendant tightly. the word 3racha burns itself onto his skin and chan realises then that something needs to happen. he thought going back to australia would fix everything, make him forget. but he realises now that the only thing it’s done is repress his trauma, his fears.

he needs to move on.

* * *

changbin hates waking up.

or, at least, he hates opening his eyes to an incomplete world. the skin of post-it notes on the studio wall whistle as the wind presses against them, drifting in through the open window. he must’ve forgotten to close it the night before, when he was finishing up the arrangement of one of his newest songs.

he sighs, stretching his back against the chair. his hair and face feel greasy, and it makes him uncomfortable, so he stands from where he’d accidentally fallen asleep, notebooks open and pens tipped everywhere. his hand knocks over an empty glass of water and he curses as he moves to pick it up.

changbin is a rapper, a lyricist, a producer. he’s twenty-three, and has more solo songs to his name than fingers and toes. he’s still in university, the same one from before. because, no matter how much money he had to enable him to move elsewhere, no matter how painful it was walking through the building to see familiar faces, no matter how emotional he got whenever he drove past the high school, he couldn’t bear to leave the only place that held memories of the one they lost all those years ago.

he’s not like minho, who’d moved back to gimpo almost a month after seungmin had left. he’s not like seungmin and hyunjin, who’d both left to fulfil their dreams without even a second look. he’s not like jeongin, who’d left to follow a dream they’d all had as soon as he turned twenty-one. he’s not like chan, who’d returned to australia not too long after the first anniversary of the incident. he’s not like felix, who pretends and acts and walks through the university building as if whatever happened never actually happened.

he’s seo changbin, hurt and afraid, holding on to memories he knows he should let go.

changbin sighs, again, and closes his eyes for a moment. he lets himself think, bringing his hand up to his collarbone where the chain of his most prized possession rests. his 3racha necklace. he always wears it- and he knows chan does too. it had been a promise they had made all those years back, when they released their first song on the now inactive soundcloud account. all three of them were to wear the necklace, or else it would be incomplete. changbin knows jisung still wears his, and he knows that chan knows that too. he can’t take it off.

he traces the engraving on the metal circle, reaching out for the coffee coloured memories that flash before him. memories of long nights in studios too small for the whole group, flashes of hyunjin’s camera, crinkling of homework and textbooks, shuffling of feet against dance studio floors. changbin remembers laughter, excitement, happiness. things he hasn’t felt in a long while. things he misses.

he breathes in, imagines the smell of felix and seungmin’s disgusting fruit smoothies, the smell of the steamed kimchi dish seungmin’s mum used to send them, the smell of the pickled peppers minho’s mum used to buy, the smell of school dinners and school coffee. he wants them all to return to him, bring him back what he’s lost, take back the pain he and his friends have gained. he clutches the necklace tighter, the pendant digging into his palm.

and when changbin opens his eyes, something heavy leans itself against his stomach. his hand comes into contact with a head of light brown hair and his eyes gaze at the sleeping face next to him. an arm is wrapped around his left leg and there’s a body cushioning his head. sunlight filters into his vision, refracting into something that feels like warmth and changbin feels at home.

* * *

jeongin opens his eyes to the sound of shuffling. it’s a loud shuffling next to his ear and he’s almost certain it’s one of the other trainees playing another prank on him. he’s the oldest of the ones he trains and lives with, so he lets the kids have their fun and puts up with it without any hard feelings. this time, though, he wills himself to open his eyes.

he hisses when bright light fills his vision, moving to bring his hand up to his face. only, something weighs it down- something heavy. he’s extremely warm too, even though he’s sure he’d turned the air conditioning on before he went to sleep. perhaps one of the kids switched it off, he thinks as he blinks rapidly, forcing his body upwards despite the weight against his stomach. he groans, rubbing his eyes with his fist and stretches as much as he can before reopening his eyes.

it’s blurry when he comes to, but he knows, with the sunlight raining down on him, that he’s outside. he startles as he catches the sleeve of his jumper, because he’d sworn he’d gone to sleep, in his own dorm bed, in an old oversized shirt. confusion washes over him, clutching at his skin and making his head spin. he glances downward, at the arm that’s thrown where his head had once lay, and he chokes on his words.

he breathes, once, twice, and shakes his head. he’s in a dream, he convinces himself as he stares at chan’s sleeping face. this isn’t real, fake, a memory he should have forgotten. but he makes the mistake of looking around again, catching sight of seungmin lying on felix’s stomach, hyunjin and minho hugging on changbin’s legs and changbin- oh, changbin. he’s sitting upward, looking almost as shocked as what jeongin supposes he looks like. he’s clutching a fist to the area below his chin and his eyes are blown wide, mouth open but silent.

the wind whistles lowly and jeongin jumps up, startling the frozen changbin. “what the fuck?” he whispers, shuffling backwards until his back hits something hard. he pinches his arm and curses again when a sharp pain follows. “you-” he stares at changbin, “-how? who- what?”

changbin shakes his head, eyes still wide. “i don’t know,” it comes out as a whisper and jeongin has to strain to hear it, “i just- i opened my eyes and you were all here.” he turns his head to face felix, blonde hair splayed across the floor they’re sleeping on. “i don’t understand- one minute i was in my studio, the next i was here- with you.”

with you. jeongin almost laughs. he hasn’t heard those words in a while. the last of his hyungs he saw was felix trying desperately to escape the bathroom of the university when jeongin walked in. that time, he’d had to tell the elder that he didn’t have to worry about running into him anymore because he simply wasn’t planning on returning the next day. he’d passed an audition and started trainee life- just like he’d dreamt, just like they’d promised.

jeongin is angry, maybe. angry at himself for being so hostile. angry at them for leaving. angry at the broken promises and false hopes. angry at life, and at death. or maybe he was just upset. upset that, at eighteen, goodbyes forced him into isolation. upset that the constellation of virgo meant two instead of three. upset that he had so easily and so quickly lost everyone he’d grown up with. upset that he was mad at them for something that crushed them all.

jeongin wills back tears as he lets his gaze wander. there are drawings all over the decaying walls, those weird trademark symbols chan used to draw everywhere. behind him, the ugly orange couch with the ripped pillows and limp cushions groans at his movement. there’s broken chairs, abandoned tvs, ripped books- it all looks exactly the same as it did three years ago. it’s almost sickening, and jeongin can feel his head start to drum slightly.

he turns back to changbin, takes in how much the elder has changed over the years. he no longer has the deep purple hair, replacing it with a brown with tints of red. his cheeks are bigger and his jaw is still sharp, but more prominent. his posture has gotten better too, from what jeongin can tell. he holds himself higher, as if he’s afraid to let his guard down and fall.

he surveys the scene in front of him, takes in the fact that they’re all together- for once. he takes in how much everyone has changed, how different but also how familiar they all are. “at least one thing hasn’t changed,” he mutters to himself bitterly when he notices the missing space next to hyunjin, “jisung-hyung is still-”

he’s cut off by a rustling at the entrance behind him and he spins around, peeking his head from behind the couch. a figure stands under the arch, bent over with their hands on their knees. they have a head of blonde hair which flaps around messily as they breathe deeply. they look up slowly, face red, and jeongin immediately catches the round, dark eyes of a ghost from the past. jeongin jumps up, startling changbin and possibly waking up one of the others, but he pays no mind, hand coming up to cover his mouth.

he watches, with something akin to fear, dread and happiness rolled into one, as the boy smiles that heart-shaped smile he knows all too well. his eyes well up in tears as the elder boy pouts and puffs his cheeks out in the way jeongin remembers so clearly in his dreams. his heart beats rapidly in his chest, threatening to rip through his ribcage. goosebumps litter his skin and he feels something well up in his throat but he pushes it down and lets his fingers shake in return. he breathes slowly- in through his nose, out through mouth- and allows himself to feel the burn of adrenaline running through his veins.

this can’t be a joke, he thinks as he rises from the ground shakily. it can’t be.

“hey! is this where you’ve all been? i’ve been calling for three hours!”

because han jisung, dead for three years, stands before them.


	4. author's note

hi everyone!

i’m sure by now you’re all probably very annoyed that i haven’t updated since may last year - i’m sorry for that. in the beginning, i had a lot of plans for this fic, as well as plans for the hyssop sequel (if you can call it that). i was so motivated and excited to write and, to be honest, i have small bits of the future chapters and hyssop sequel written out. however, due to everything that’s been going on i haven’t been able to motivate myself to write. that, and due to some mental health issues, i haven’t been as active in writing as i would have liked.

this year, i will be preparing for uni in september. with alevels ‘cancelled’, i’ve been busy trying to keep up with my classes and revision. this is a really hard and mentally draining time for a lot of us, so i hope you understand that i don’t think i’ll be doing any writing any time soon. i know this explanation is late, but i have put this fic on hold until i’m able to write the best way i can. i apologise if that means i don’t update for another year, or end up discontinuing writing all together, and i’m especially sorry for everyone who has read and enjoyed my fics.

i hope you understand, take care of yourselves and keep safe. remember to be kind <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you haven’t already, read [hyssop](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18031016) or [arbutus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20373130)
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/ji6ngs)


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